MS Literary Magazine, section 3

Midsummer

	Setting: the Zeigfeld theater, 54^th Street near 6^th Ave.
	Sitting: Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, Helena, and Demetrius
Lysander:	Oh, beautiful Helena, your eyes are more beautiful than the moon. And your skin is as soft as a baby's bottom.
Helena:	Silence, you blithering dolt! I am trying to watch Star Wars.
	(In the movie R2D2 gets hit and falls down)
Hermia:	Oh, Lysander, this movie is so scary.
Lysander:	Silence, you fool, I am trying to watch this movie.
Egeus:	Oh, Hermia, why don't you join me and Demetrius for a cup of coffee?
Hermia:	No. In case you haven't figured it out yet, (yelling) I hate Demetrius!
All in theater:	Shhhhhhhhh!
Demetrius:	(acting stupid, as per usual ) C'mon babe, your father says we should get married, so let's do it.
Hermia:	(to Egeus) I rest my case.
	(In movie Luke blows up the Death Star, Hermia screams)
Hermia:	Hold me closer, Lysander.
Lysander:	How about not. Just leave me alone!
Hermia:	(making a joke) Hey, look. (pointing at Chewbacca) Demetrius is in the movie.
Demetrius:	(acting like he is important) Yeah, the tall, bearded hero.
Hermia:	It was an insult.
Demetrius:	(feeling let down) Oh.
Lysander:	Princess Leia looks just like you, Helena.
Helena:	Whatever.
	(The movie ends, the credits start rolling, the lights slowly turn on, everyone claps)
All in theater:	Yeaaaah! Wohooo!
	(Everyone exits the theater)
Demetrius:	Where should we go now, my sweet?
Hermia:	First, I am not a type of candy and second, what do you mean "we?"
Demetrius:	Yeah, babe, we go together like green eggs and ham.
Hermia:	(to Demetrius) Yeah. (to herself) Always agree with the nuts.
Lysander:	Ah, light of my soul, apple of my eye, what do you want to do?
Helena:	What I want is for you to leave me alone and stop mocking me.
Lysander:	Me? Mocking you? Impossible! I love you!
Helena:	Don't lie. I know you love Hermia.
	(Enter Robin and Ariel)
Robin:	See, Ariel, there they are, the stupid mortals that I had written to you about. I tried this out on another man and it worked perfectly. I shall turn Hermia's head into the head of an ass. It will be so much fun.
	(All of a sudden Hermia's head is the head of a ass)
Lysander:	You have an ass's head!
Hermia:	Even if you don't like me, you don't have to be so mean.
Ariel:	You are so lucky. If I had done that, Prospero would have never set me free.
Robin:	Well, that's one of the advantages of being young.
	(Enter Oberon)
Oberon:	(in a big deep commanding voice) ROBIN!
Robin:	(in a small little scared voice) Yes?
Oberon:	What did you do to that mortal?
Robin:	I didn't do anything; it was Ariel. I told her not to, but she did it anyway.
Oberon:	Don't give me that bull. Fix her head and I'll spare you.
	(Oberon exits)
Ariel:	Serves you right, trying to pin what you did on me. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Robin:	Man, he can be a pain in the neck sometimes.
	(Robin fixes her head and then exits with Ariel.)
Helena:	Goodbye.
Lysander:	Wait for me, O Pretty One.
Hermia:	Wait for me, handsome.
	(Helena, Lysander, and Hermia exit)
Egeus:	We'll get her to be wed to you eventually, but now let us get some coffee.
	(They exit)

Alexander H.
sixth grade

Her Royal Highness

Costume balls, that's all I hear about.
Sophia dances all night, and she has a gown for each evening
      of the year.
Though she is prodigal, she never gets in trouble.
      "The jewel of the family," says Papa.
      "The beautiful one," says Mama.
      "The dreadful one," say I.
      "Oh, you're just jealous," says she.
Till five after twelve she dances,
While the rest of the day she grooms herself, or perhaps
      practices her steps,
While I read, write, and practice my music.
Why is it she who has the fun?
While I, stuck here in the dreadful palace,
      wait for a prince to come,
Precisely a prince on a horse,
One that will sweep me away.

Oh, have I yet mentioned her suitors?
She has one nearly every day.
As they stand in a line, she always whines.
Always I hear her say,
"Not you. Not you. Not you. Nor you! Oh, and look at his nose!"
Or sometimes,
"You silly prince, why would I choose you?"

Danielle K.
sixth grade

Suddenly, my cinnamon raisin bagel with
a tad too much melted butter obscured
my senses. Soon, upon the
toasted surface, I see you walking, with
your head down, hands in pockets. Like
I do.
But I know you don't. You won't. You
don't miss, don't care, don't lose, you
don't even feel.
Maybe that's why we happened.
It was a challenge
To find you behind you,
The feel behind the rock.
And I admit it, I had fun doing it
and along the way I fell in love with
you. Or maybe that was the challenge,
A game with no end.
As your cold breath swept across my
cheek, I realized you had won.

Olivia B.
eighth grade

The green pools of ripples
Dance in the night.
I can almost feel their emotions,
Their happiness, their sadness.
The smiles and frowns of their
Nymph-like features are grabbing me,
And their essence
Burns into me what a cold
Fire.

Maggie W.
fifth grade

    "And so, if a woman gave birth to quintuplets, even triplets, it was considered a small miracle," I finished. The class snickered. "That was before genetic cloning, of course," I added hastily. I glanced at the teacher, trying to squeeze a reaction out of her expressionless face. "I'm finished."
    The teacher smiled in her frozen way. "Very nice," she said. I trudged back to my seat and sank into the cold metal surface. I had spent hours researching dull books and old newspapers for "very nice" and a blank smile.
    And to make matters worse, after me was Madeline. The rumor was that her parents had not only engineered her to be less prone to sickness, like most parents did, they had chosen specific traits they wanted her to have and stuck them in her DNA. So now, just because her parents were so controlling that they engineered her, she's perfect in every way, academically.
    "My paper is on exactly how we invented the Automatic Card Shuffler," she announced.
    Ooh. How interesting. Madeline's perky voice always seemed to drive into my skull. Every word was torture. I looked around me. A few of my classmates covered their ears—the ones who weren't deep in slumber.
    I jammed my fingers into my ears and tried to sleep. Luckily, I brought one of those new sleeping pills with me, the ones that last for thirty minutes, and I popped it into my mouth.
    When I woke up, the teacher was saying, "And tomorrow, everyone be sure to have memorized the new periodic table. You are now free to go."
    Wearily, I rose, gathered my things and walked out of the dark classroom and into the sunshine. I put on my hat immediately, cursing the ozone layer. As I walked home I almost wished my parents had engineered my genes. They didn't do anything. They didn't even give me an extra strong immune system or a talent for music. They believe in letting nature play itself out, or something like that. They are such weirdos. I mean, nobody's parents are like that. At least they give their kids a head start.
    When I got home, I mumbled hello to my mother, lay down on my bed and recited the new elements for the periodic table in my mind. Kyglium, Hyrfytglium, Wyrgon. Qytonium, Lifdonium, Asrodinium.
    And that was the last truly normal day of my life.
    The chaos that struck my town and later, I learned, the rest of the world hit us like a slap in the face. In school, class began as usual. Then, as Madeline raised her hand to ask the teacher a question, she started coughing violently. Because I was sitting next to her, I leaned over and said, "You need a whack on the back? Are you choking?"
    She didn't answer and kept coughing, loudly, forcefully. Her body swayed back and forth uncontrollably.
    "Madeline?" the teacher said, some distant part of her worried. "Are you all right? Do you need a drink?"
    In front of my horrified eyes, Madeline wheezed a final time and small, blood-covered, white objects flew out of her mouth. I looked at them, and screamed. Her teeth were scattered all over her desk. She began to wail and shriek. Her beautiful, shiny, perfect hair slid down her back. Her eyebrows fell out, too, littering her bloody lips with hair. I screamed. The teacher fainted, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Then Madeline's face started to sag. Her face aged seventy years in a matter of seconds. Her bones showed through; her skin hung on to them, remnants of a person. I turned away from her and vomited. That's all I remember.
    The next day I didn't have to go to school. I lay in bed, unable to move or think until my mother came in.
    "It's okay, honey. Everything is going to be just fine. How are you feeling?"
    I mumbled something.
    "All right, honey, it's okay. Everything is fine."
    "Mom," I whispered.
    "Yes, shhh, it's okay."
    "What happened to Madeline?"
    "Not now, sweetie."
    "Yes, now," I said clearly, my voice stronger.
    "No, relax. Let me get you some breakfast."
    "No!" I shouted, feeling a surge of energy. I sat up. "Tell me now!"
    "Honey..."
    "No, mom! No! Don't hide this from me, just tell me! I'm fine!"
    My mother looked anxious and told me to lie down. She had always thought I should know the truth about things, no matter what they were, so I knew she would tell me the exact truth.
    "You know your father and I are against genetic engineering."
    "Yes."
    "And that is partly due to the fact that both of us were altered ---- very slightly ---- ourselves."
    Actually, I didn't know that, but I nodded.
    "Well, your friend Madeline..."
    I was beginning to feel sick again, but I wanted to know whatever my mother was going to tell me. More than anything, I wanted to know.
    "The doctors said that her... her mitochondria just stopped working all at once."
    "What does that mean?"
    "It means her cells just couldn't get any... any..."
    "Energy?" I asked, confused.
    "Yes. Doctors and scientists are calling it Acute Mitochondrilysis."
    I tried to digest this information. Somehow my mind wouldn't accept it.
    "You mean, the more engineered people's genes are, the more irregular, the more their cells could start...mutating or aging, or their organs could just stop working or something?"
    My mother nodded.
    "But what caused it? Why now, all of a sudden?"
    "Somehow our bodies are being affected by the pollution in the air."
    "What? What are you talking about? That makes no sense."
    "I know, sweetie, I know. Somehow the ---- well, I don't even understand it myself. Genetically enhanced people are becoming unstable. That is, their..."
    "But, what about you and dad? You said you were altered, too!"
    "Slightly, I said. Your father was born with a slight speech problem that no means of therapy and training could undo. His tongue simply formed a bit wrong. He didn't even notice it, but his parents decided to just get the problem out of the way. And when I was young, Granny had this dream that, like her, I would play the piano. So I was given...I'm not sure exactly. But after that I had a natural talent for music. I rebelled against it, though, when I was older, and didn't have anything to do with music."
    "So maybe nothing will happen."
    "Nothing will happen. Calm down. There isn't going to be any school today. Your father is at work. You know his number in the news room, right?"
    My dad is a technojournalist. He covers major discoveries having to do with top secret technology, the kind of things the government hides from the public. My mom used to work in technojournalism, but she quit when I was born.
    "I am going out to buy some groceries. Relax, try to sleep. I'm programming the alarm to let people in on your command, but don't unless it's----"
    "Dad," I finished for her.
    "Right."
    "Okay, " I said, suddenly weak again.
    After my mother left I took a sleeping pill. When I groggily emerged from my bedroom, I felt different. Peculiar. Seeing Madeline wither and die that way made me feel as if I wasn't living in reality, that this was all a sick illusion that I would awaken from. But my mother and father were both soon home, and we ate dinner and continued our schedule as if nothing had happened. A day passed, then two. School was open but I wouldn't leave the threshold of the front door.
    Exactly a week had passed when I wandered into my parents' bedroom one morning. My father was sitting on the bed looking grave. My mother was lying in bed, crying. I stepped out of their view and listened to their conversation.
    "But what about our daughter? She's in some kind of crisis, some deep form of denial. And all around us, what is happening to our world?"
    "Calm down. Stop that. We will be all right. She is going to be fine. We will be fine. The scientists will find some way to end this."
    "I can't believe you're talking that way! Can't you see? This is out of our hands! We have discovered too much, too fast. And we are dying because of it."
    I did not want to hear any more. I entered my parents' bedroom.
    "Hi," I said hoarsely, trying to seem cheerful.
    My mother ran forward and hugged me. "You're feeling better!" she said. "Why don't you go lie down and I'll bring you some breakfast. And why don't you watch some TV? Just to relax. I know it's boring, but it's good for just lying and relaxing," she babbled.
    I obeyed her, but I made the mistake of turning to one of those news channels.
    "Today more cases were reported of what scientists are calling Acute Mitochondrilysis. Victims suffered hair loss and rapid decay in all forms. One five-year-old in Noble County had a heart attack due to accelerated aging. That's the news for now." I stared at the glowing screen of the television.
    "What are we going to do?" I whimpered aloud.

    I went back to school, with a new teacher because all the people designated for teaching jobs were drastically engineered, and my teacher was in the hospital with Acute Mitochondrilysis. A month had dragged by when I went into the kitchen to ask my mother for a snack and found her on the floor, with half a head of hair and blood dripping out of her nose and mouth.
    "Mom!" I shrieked. "No! No, no, no!" I sobbed. "Not my mother, no!" I collapsed on the floor beside her. "Mommy! Talk to me!"
    "Honey," she rasped softly.
    I cried and screamed until I could no longer utter a single word, my throat was so sore. Slowly, as if in a trance, I picked up the phone and called the police. 0-0-0, I dialed.
    "000 Medical Emergency," said a voice.
    "Help me," I whispered.
    "Keep calm, where are you?"
    "My mother... 733 Falbright Place..." I could say no more.
    My mom was kept under close observation, but there was nothing they could do to stop the process of Acute Mitochondrilysis. My father suffered similar symptoms only a few months later.
    Ambulances drove through my neighborhood every minute, all night long. The houses around my house were boarded up, and there were hardly any people around. Some only suffered minor Mitochondrilysis, and a few were unaltered, like me. After school, which was now taught by a computer in a class of three students, two of whom were hooked up to machines that forced air into their lungs, I took long walks, trying to find people to talk to. I once visited a boy near my age whose only symptoms of Mitochondrilysis were some wrinkled skin, moderately bad arthritis and a weak leg. He was my only real friend. I would come to his house and talk to him for hours, until one day.
    "Hi," I had said, letting myself into his warm home. "Is your mom out of the hospital yet?"
    "No," he said coldly. "The door wasn't locked?" He was lying in bed, as usual.
    "No," I said, surprised. "You never leave it locked. So how are you, anyway? Are your hands hurting again? I brought you some Super Strength Tylenol in the cream form. It just came out, and it's supposed to work great."
    He didn't answer. As I made my way to his side with the cream he still didn't respond, just eyed me icily.
    I stopped. "What's wrong?"
    "You could never understand!" he screamed. "You're fine! You can still run and talk and play ball and----"
    "With who?" I yelled back, equally upset. I was not about to surrender my only friend in the world. "And you have your mother!"
    "Not any more," he snapped. "She died today."
    "I'm sorry," I whispered. "But don't be angry with me. I didn't know."
    "Go away," he said calmly. Shocked, I staggered out of the house and resolved not to talk to anyone any more. Now I was more lonely than I would have ever imagined. There weren't really any animals to befriend, besides some rats and squirrels. Dogs, cats, everything had been engineered to be smarter, or faster, more docile, more aggressive. I didn't even see any birds----when baby birds were born, scientists came to change them to be tougher and sing more sweetly, and multiply more. What a treat for the neighborhood! More birds that sang beautiful tunes! Now they lay dead in the streets.
    I wandered my town like a slaughtered turkey still moving after its head had been severed. I tried committing suicide, but some way or another my body managed to defy me and prolong my misery. I tried overdosing on sleeping pills, but I just slept for two days straight and woke up feeling shaky. I also tried hanging myself from my door knob, but I used rope that had some elasticity to it, so I just hung there for hours and nothing really happened. I was about to slit my wrists when I found a disk with some old home movies on it. I watched my eighth birthday, with my mother hugging me and helping me blow out the candles, and I was so foolishly furious at her for taking away my job. My father picked me up and spun me around, and I was delighted. I threw away the knife, resenting my weakness.
    Sometimes I remembered the days before all this happened, when I had my parents to laugh and play with, and my classmates, and my life. The good days.

Sonya G.
seventh grade

[ Home ] [ Publications] [ Litmag contents ] [ Previous section ] [ Next section ]